mostly retreated into the forests around the pass, not gone down the pass at all — take it again. The city and the citadel were bombed, though not well; the Hegemonarchy's fighters shot most of the bombers down. The counter- attack finally began. He started with the elite troops, then brought in the rest. The Air Force still concentrated on the supply lines for the first couple of days, then switched to the front line. The Imperial Army wavered, line crinkling; it seemed to hesitate like some wash of water almost but not quite capable of overspilling the damming line of mountains save in one place (and that trickle was drying, still pushing for the city, leaving the pass, fighting through the forests and fields for the shining goal they still hoped might win the war…), then the line fell back; the soldiers too exhausted, their supplies of ammunition and fuel too sporadic.
The passes stayed with the Hegemonarchy, and slowly they pushed down from them again, so that it must have seemed to the Imperial soldiers that they were forever shooting up-hill, and that while advancing had been a heavy, dangerous slog, retreating was only too easy.
The retreat became a rout in valley after valley. He insisted on keeping the counter-attack going; the priests cabled that more forces ought to be deployed to stop the advance of the two Imperial divisions on the capital. He ignored them. There was barely enough left of the two tattered divisions to make one whole one, and they were being gradually eroded further all the time. It was possible they might make it to the city, but after that they would have nowhere to go. He thought it might be satisfying to accept their eventual surrender personally.
The rains came on the far side of the mountains, and as the bedraggled Imperial forces made their way through the dripping forests, their Air Force was all too often grounded by bad weather, while the Hegemonarchy's planes bombed and strafed then with impunity.
People fled to the city; artillery duels thundered nearby. The remnants of the two divisions that had broken through the mountains fought desperately on towards their goal. On the distant plains on the far side of the mountains, the rest of the Imperial Army was retreating as fast as it could. The divisions trapped in Shenastri Province, unable to retreat through the quagmire behind them, surrendered en masse.
The Imperial Court signalled its desire for peace the day what was left of its two divisions entered Balzeit City. They had a dozen tanks and a thousand men, but they left their artillery in the fields, bereft of ammunition. The few thousand people left in the city sought refuge in the wide parade grounds of the citadel. He watched them stream in through the gates in the high walls, far in the distance.
He'd been going to quit the citadel that day — the priests had been screaming at him to do so for days, and most of the general staff had already left — but now he held the transcript of the message they'd just received from the Imperial Court.
Two Hegemonarchy divisions were, anyway, on their way out of the mountains, coming to the aid of the city.
He radioed the priests. They decided to accept a truce; fighting would stop immediately, if the Imperial Army withdrew to the positions it had held before the war. There were a few more radio exchanges; he left the priests and the Imperial Court to sort it all out. He took off his uniform and for the first time since he'd arrived, dressed as a civilian. He went to a high tower with some field glasses, and watched the tiny specks that were enemy tanks as they rolled down a street, far away. The citadel gates were closed.
A truce was declared at midday. The weary Imperial soldiers outside the citadel gates billeted themselves in the bars and hotels nearby.
He stood in the long gallery and faced into the light. The tall white curtains billowed softly around him, quiet in the warm breeze. His long black hair was lifted only slightly by the gentle wind. His hands were clasped behind his back. He looked pensive. The silent, lightly clouded skies over the mountains, beyond the fortress and the city, threw a blank, pervasive light across his face, and standing there like that, in plain dark clothes, he looked insubstantial, like some statue, or a dead man propped against the battlements to fool the foe.
'Zakalwe?'
He turned. His eyes widened in surprise. 'Skaffen-Amtiskaw! This is an unexpected honour. Sma letting you out alone these days, or is she about too?' He looked the length of the citadel's long gallery.
'Good day, Cheradenine,' the drone said, floating towards him. 'Ms Sma is on her way, in a module.'
'And how is Dizzy?' He sat down on a small bench set against the wall which faced the long line of white- curtained windows. 'What's the news?'
'I believe it is mostly good,' Skaffen-Amtiskaw said, floating level with his face. 'Mr Beychae is on his way to the Impren Habitats, where a summit conference between the Cluster's two main tendencies is to be held. It would appear the danger of war is lessening.'
'Well, isn't this all very wonderful,' he said, sitting back with his hands behind his neck. 'Peace here; peace out there.' He squinted at the drone, his head to one side. 'And yet, drone, somehow you do not seem to be overflowing with joy and happiness. You seem — dare I say it? — positively sombre. What's the matter? Batteries low?'
The machine was silent for a second or two. Then it said, 'I believe Ms Sma's module is about to land; shall we go to the roof?'
He looked puzzled for a moment, then nodded, stooa smartly and clapped his hands once, indicating the way forward. 'Certainly; let's go.'
They went to his apartments. He thought Sma seemed rather subdued, too. He'd imagined she'd be bubbling over with excitement because the Cluster looked like it wasn't going to go to war after all.
'What's the problem, Dizzy?' he asked, pouring her a drink. She was pacing up and down in front of the room's shuttered windows. She took the drink from him, but didn't seem interested in it. She turned to face him, her long, oval face looking… he wasn't sure. But there was a cold feeling somewhere in his guts.
'You have to leave, Cheradenine,' she told him.
'Leave? When?'
'Now; tonight. Tomorrow morning at the latest.'
He looked confused, then laughed. 'Okay; I confess; the catamites were starting to look attractive, but…'
'No,' Sma said. 'I'm serious, Cheradenine. You have to go.'
He shook his head. 'I can't. There's no guarantee the truce will hold. They might need me.'
'The truce isn't going to hold,' Sma told him, looking away. 'Not on one side, anyway.' She put her glass down on a shelf.
'Eh?' he said. He glanced at the drone, which was looking non-committal. 'Diziet, what are you talking about?'
'Zakalwe,' she said, eyes blinking rapidly; she tried to look at him, 'A deal's been done; you have to leave.'
He stared at her.
'What's the deal, Dizzy?' he said softly.
'There was some… fairly low-level help being given to the Empire by the Humanist faction,' she told him, walking towards one wall, then returning, talking not to him but to the tile and carpet floor. 'They had… face invested in what's been happening here. The whole delicate structure of the deal did rather depend on the Empire triumphing here.' She stopped, glanced at the drone, looking away again. 'Which is what everybody agreed was going to happen, up until a few days ago.'
'So,' he said slowly, putting aside his own drink, sitting down in a great chair that looked like a throne. 'I messed things up by turning the game against the Empire, did I?'
'Yes,' Sma said, swallowing. 'Yes, you did. I'm sorry. And I know it's crazy, but that's the way things are here, the way the people are here; the Humanists are divided at the moment, and there are factions within them that would use any excuse to argue for getting out of the deal, however insignificant that excuse might be. They might just be able to pull the whole thing down. We can't take that risk. The Empire has to win.'
He sat, looking at a small table in front of him. He sighed. 'I see. And all I have to do is leave?'
'Yes; come with us.'
'What happens after that?'
'The high priests will be kidnapped by an Imperial commando squad brought in by Humanist controlled aircraft. The citadel here will be taken over by the troops outside; there are raids planned on the field HQs; they should be pretty bloodless. If necessary, the Hegemonarchy planes, tanks, artillery pieces and trucks will be put out of action, should the armed forces ignore the call put out by the high priesthood to surrender their arms. Once
